


Cinnamon wind

by tall_wolf_of_tarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bars and Pubs, F/M, Fluff, but this is fluff, the island is named after the ship Cinnamon Wind, there is sun and sand, they are at tropical island making fancy drinks so alcohol is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tall_wolf_of_tarth/pseuds/tall_wolf_of_tarth
Summary: Brienne is stuck on a tiny tropical island at Summer Isles and needs a job. Luckily a local bar, The Oathkeeper needs someone to sort out the taxes. Too bad that the owner, Jaime Hill, is a lazy beach bum who spends his time at staring at the sea. And how is the bar able to stay in business when there are no patrons? And how will Brienne bring this bar up to its feet?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 102
Kudos: 169
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRhiyana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/gifts).



> My dear LadyRhiyana, when I got the prompt from you I was terrified. Not because I didn’t like the prompts, which I did! But because how am I, a rookie writer, supposed to write a prompt to someone who has written some of my favourite JB fics? I adore your tennis au beyond any reason and all your modern royalty au:s! But, I did write, and thus this little thing was born. I almost chickened out in halfway and was planning to write another prompt of yours, but my beta helped me a great deal to sort out my problems and I hope you will like it. 
> 
> My dear Beta-- you know who you are-- I love you and am eternally grateful for your help and support.
> 
> ETA: you’ll find my prompt from the end notes at the last chapter.

Chapter One

The island is called Cinnamon Wind. It was named after a shipwreck, not the spice, Brienne learns from her father but she can smell the cinnamon on the days when the breeze comes down from the sun-warmed hills instead of the sea. The smell both excites and infuriates her and Brienne lets it soak into her skin until it's too much and she runs to the waves to wash it away in the saltwater.

“You need to find yourself something to do, girl. You're driving me mad, hovering here,” her father complains, so Brienne goes to the fancy hotel at the other side of the island where the ladies wear wide hats and complicated swimsuits and chats with the receptionist and now she teaches yoga twice a week and Water Dancing aerobics on Sunday afternoons. The receptionist later directs Brienne to the other hotel, where there are at least seven different water slides and lots of children wearing sunscreen and wielding complicated-looking water guns so Brienne now gives swimming lessons there in the afternoons.

That still leaves quite many hours to hover around her father and his caretaker Samwell.

There are only two hotels on this tiny tropical island so Brienne finds herself staring at a faded sticky note on the notice board in front of the pharmacy.

“ _Hiring a part-time manager. Apply to Jaime Hill, The Oathkeeper.”_

Brienne hasn't been inside The Oathkeeper but she has walked past it several times on her way to the food market or the pharmacy. It's a beach bar sandwiched between the two hotels.

She hasn't managed a bar before – she was a melee coach in a high school – but she used to take care of all their family businesses at Tarth when she still lived there. And managing a bar on a small tropical island can't be that hard.

Brienne takes a photo of the number on the sticky note, goes back to her father's house at the other side of the island and after a suitable amount of time of worrying, practising saying hello and fretting, she calls the number.

***

M: Did you call? How did it go?

B: Yes I called. Going to interview tomorrow.

M: Good luck and let me know how it goes.

***

Brienne finds a small path squashed between the building and the hedgerow and follows it to the bar. It seems to be empty, from customers and employees.

Her hesitant “hello” goes unanswered, but she walks further in and calls again.

Very irritated “We're closed!” comes somewhere out from the yard.

“I'm not...” she starts to explain that she is not here for a drink, before a more irritated “WE'RE CLOSED” comes again from the yard. Now Brienne is pissed off as well.

“I'm here for the interview!” she shouts to the abyss behind the hibiscus bushes. A rather tall man with a shaggy blond beard emerges from the abyss. He is easily the best looking human Brienne has ever seen in her life, except for the unkempt beard. He looks like half-god, or Warrior himself if the Warrior had come back to the earth dressed in tan shorts and Moluu floral print shirt and refused to shave for two years.

The demigod gives Brienne a good long once-over, up and down and up again and Brienne feels her face going red. She didn't bring any work clothes to the island, and the only slightly professional-looking outfit she managed to put together consists of black trousers and a white dress shirt. It makes her look like a waiter in a Essosi restaurant, but it was the best she could do. The man smirks most annoyingly.

“You're Bryen? Why on earth were you named Bryen?” He lifts his eyebrows and looks down again at Brienne's frumpy clothes. “Although I can see why actually.”

 _Oh_ , Brienne swallows a lump from her throat and realises. He is one of _those_. The kind of asshole who doesn't even try to be polite. She lets her smile drop from her face and straightens her back.

“It's Brienne. Brienne Tarth. I'm here to see Jaime Hill,” she uses her most haughty voice. “For the manager position.”

“Yes, yes, Bree-enne,” the asshole drawls, “I'm him. I just expected Bryen, not you.” The reception for mobile phones is really bad on the island and their phone call had been rather hard to hear so Brienne kind of understands the mistake, but the asshole is still annoying as hell.

They settle at the table nearby. The place is quite nice actually, shaded by the palm trees and hibiscus bushes and the view towards the sea is spectacular. Jaime Hill brings two bottles of water to the table and it’s then when Brienne notices his prosthetic hand on his right arm.

“Well, let me see your resume,” Jaime Hill stretches his other hand out. Brienne gives him the paper reluctantly. “It's not really a proper resume...” she tries to explain but the rude man plucks the paper out of her hand and looks at it.

“There are only two lines here,” he frowns. “You worked a year as a school sports coach and you worked for your father when you were a child.” Brienne feels her face going red. “What are you doing here if you've never managed a business before?” He throws the paper to the table.

“I do have some experience...” Brienne starts but before she can explain her experience at Tarth the horrid man talks over her. “What, you managed an ice cream stand?” Then he wrinkles his nose. “On the other hand, that would still make you more qualified than those other two muppets I've hired.” The man leans back in his chair and lifts his chin.

“Go on, wench, tell me what work you did for your father.” Brienne sees red.

“Excuse, me? What did you just call me?”

“Wench. You look like one, like those serving wenches at Vale who can carry twelve tankards of ale in each hand. You've got big enough hands for that.”

“I thought you needed a manager, not a waitress? I can't see how the size of my hands is relevant.”

“Alright, alright, Bree-enne, tell me about why I should hire you to manage my bar.” Brienne swallows her anger and starts.

“Well, I've done bookkeeping for my father since I was fourteen. And worked for the family business pretty much until I left the island.” He looks suitably impressed.

“And what kind of business were those?”

“We had several small enterprises. Bed and Breakfast, that was the biggest. A souvenir shop, boat and equipment rental and we gave tours to tourists, and the farm of course but it’s a really small farm but we did sell some produce. Oh, and we did have an ice cream stand but my brother managed that.” Galladon still loves working on the beach and chatting up the girls.

Jaime looks impressed. Brienne continues, “I never actually have managed a bar, but I did most of the work with the family business when my father was away for a year.” Dad had gone a round-the-world tour with his then-girlfriend. “Oh, and I can pour a pint if needed. I’ve helped my uncle in pub sometimes. Never carried tankards around though.”

Jaime Hill picks up the discarded cv again.

“Brienne Tarth? The name sounds vaguely familiar.”

“You might have met my father, Selwyn. He lives on the other side of the island.”

Jaime Hill narrows his eyes. “You do look like him. How is he? I haven't seen him around lately.”

“He had a stroke.” Brienne swallows. It’s the sole reason why she is here now at this tiny island.

“Oh,” the bar owner frowns. “How is he now?”

“He's getting better.”

Jaime Hill taps his fingers to the table and stares at Brienne with a shrewd look. “Alright, you're hired,” he then blurts.

“Wait, just like that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He rubs his hand over his shaggy beard. “Selwyn's a nice enough guy. If he trusted you to do his bookkeeping, so do I. Speaking of which, the deadline for submitting the taxes is in a month. The papers are in mess, and they claim that I underpaid taxes last year, so those need to be reviewed too.”

“I can do that,” Brienne nods and quickly adds. “I need to choose my hours. I need to help my father and I give classes at hotels...” Jaime Hill cuts her off again. “Not a problem. Work during the night or day, I don't care.”

Jaime Hill then names a rather decent wage -- considering it's a part-time job and that he looks like he lives under some boat at the beach. Brienne mentally prepares herself for the fact that she might never see her wages and approves it.

“Let me show you to your place of work,” Jaime Hill then stands up.

There's a small room behind the bar that doubles up as storage and Brienne's new workspace. Surrounded by cases of rum, beer and vodka are a rickety table stacked with boxes of papers, empty paper cups smelling of stale coffee and folders. Jaime Hill shuffles around the piles and produces a surprisingly new and sleek looking laptop which he then balances on top of a particularly leaning tower.

“Well,” he rubs his beard with a smirk. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you, so I'll leave you to it,” and promptly disappears from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I don’t know anything about doing taxes or managing a business, so please try not to look too closely at that part.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne settles in, and we learn about others who work in the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding the second chapter right away, but the rest three will be posted in the next days. Don't worry, everything is already written, I'm just spacing out the chapters.

Chapter Two

Brienne spends the rest of the day sorting through various piles of papers, receipts and trash. She goes home hands covered in paper cuts and dust, helps her father with his evening routines and tucks into her bed more tired as she has been for months.

Next day, when she returns to The Oathkeeper and the crowded storage room, more papers have appeared on the table. Jaime Hill is nowhere to be seen but a brown-haired woman is cleaning the bar, wearing earphones and listening to music. “I'm Pia,” she introduces herself with a smile before putting the earphones back again.

Brienne buries herself into the piles of dusty paper, sorting through them methodically. She uses empty wine crates and cardboard boxes to store the papers and soon enough manages to build a little fortress out of them at the front of her desk.

She meets the Oathkeepers two bartenders that day. Bronn Waters, a scrawny looking fellow, comes over in the afternoon, gives Brienne an once-over and a smirk and tries to chat her up. When Brienne ignores his attempts for a conversation, he huffs with amusement and disappears from the room. Later, when Brienne emerges from the storage room the bar is open for business, some patrons are sitting around the tables and a big, familiar-looking man is standing next to the bar.

“This is Sandor Stone,” points Bronn towards the other man with his thumb while scrolling on his phone, reading glasses perching at the tip of his nose.

Sandor Clegane gives Brienne a nod and a firm handshake.

“Tarth,” he grunts. “Haven't seen you for a while.” He looks ragged and there is a fierce-looking burn scar at his cheek, partially covered with skin grafts.

“Sandor _Stone_?” Brienne lifts her eyebrows. The big man huffs. “Trying to lay low after the war,” he tells her quietly. “Don't want anything to do with my family.” When he sees Brienne's eyes on his face he just shrugs “war,” and eyes on Brienne's faint white scars on her cheek.

He doesn't ask about them, which is a relief. “I read you stopped fighting?” he asks instead.

“Yes,” admits Brienne ruefully. “Couldn't afford it any more.”

“Shame,” Sandor shakes head. “You were good.” Brienne had once fought him when he still was fighting in the melees. Brienne had beat him, and she is still proud of that.

“How's your old father?”

“Better,” Brienne admits and looks at her phone. “He is waiting for me.” It's late and she needs to drive home to her dad.

***

Brienne sees Jaime Hill the next day when she finds him reading in a hammock nearby hibiscus bushes, wearing again a garish Moluu island shirt. It’s patterned with green leaves and little shadowcats hiding in the foliage and it makes his green eyes shine.

“Miss Tarth,” he nods with a familiar smirk, and when Brienne returns to her fortress of boxes, she finds a new pile of receipts, bills and printouts to sort through.

It takes her ages to get them all to some semblance. There are at least several years worth of papers. It seems that someone or other tried to sort through them before, but wasn’t very good at it. Taxes need to be sorted for last year and year before that, Jaime Hill had said. He has owned the bar for that time and anything before that can be ignored.

She learns several things while working with them.

One. The bar has hardly any customers.

“We're out of season,” grins Bronn, the chattiest of the employees, when Brienne remarks to the lack of crowds when filling her coffee cup behind the bar.

Two. Jaime Hill doesn't seem to work at all. Brienne only sees him reclining in the hammock behind the hibiscus bushes, reading or watching the waves, or bantering with Bronn or Sandor. Whenever Brienne comes to the bar, Jaime Hill is lazing either in the hammock or on a deck chair, his green eyes following her.

Three. There are fair amounts of alcohol consumed – based on the bills from the liquor vendors, but not much sold.

***

M: Maybe they are laundering money?

B: In which case, there should be incoming money, but there seems to be not much at all.

***

She does like her work. She can pick her hours, and work for her classes between sorting the papers. The sea is much calmer on this side of the island, so Brienne makes a habit of arriving early in the morning to swim a good hour or so before coming to the bar. She changes out of her swimsuit in the bathroom and works a few hours before dashing to either hotel to her classes. Soon enough she just keeps wearing the workout gear she gives her classes in, as the bar customers never see her when she sits in the storage room. Jaime Hill, always either lounging in the deck chair at the beach or loitering at the bar gives her a smirk each time when she passes him. “Nice outfit,” he comments when Brienne comes in her yoga gear that the receptionist in the posh hotel, Sansa, helped her to pick out. “I bet you can kick ass in that,” he laughs and Brienne feels her blush rushing upwards on her face. That, of course makes Jaime Hill grin even bigger.

“I do miss sparring,” Brienne confesses to Sandor next day, who then promptly takes her to the gym behind the post office. It has a pretty good selection of practice weapons and protective gear and Brienne is happy to meet Sandor there several times a week to practice. She manages to get some particularly good hits with a mace to Sandor's left side one day which he retaliates back with a fury and Brienne ends up with some particularly beautiful shades of purple bruises on her arms. She covers them up with a long-sleeved shirt when she gives her yoga and swim classes but doesn't bother with it at the bar.

Maybe she should have, because Pia, the cleaning lady, is horrified.

“It's fine,” Brienne tries to console her. “I used to get even worse bruises when I was fighting professionally.” Sandor apologetically hands Brienne her coffee.

“Well, it makes total sense,” comments Jaime Hill, who apparently was napping in the hammock again and now slithers back to the bar like a snake.

“What does?” Brienne asks with irritation.

“That you fought in the melees. I bet you used to beat all the other girls to the ground.”

“No, I didn't,” Brienne groans.

“Ah, so you were shit?” Jaime Hill smirks. Sandor, who piles glasses to the counter huffs. “Wrong, Boss. She is almost as good as me.”

“I’m better than you, Hound. I kicked _you_ to the ground, didn’t I?”

“I had an off day,” the big man smiles.

“You fought Sandor?” Jaime Hill looks at Brienne now.

“I fought in men's competitions, not women's,” Brienne explains reluctantly. Pia gasps, and even Jaime looks impressed.

“So, why did you stop? You're still young, why aren't you fighting now?”

“Because I couldn't afford it any more.” Brienne turns away and puts some milk in her coffee.

“So you _were_ shit. If you were any good you'd won prizes and gotten sponsors.”

“I won prizes, but they paid me according to women's contracts. It was usually less than 10% of what men won. It rarely even covered the entrance fee.”

“That's so unfair,” says Pia from the corner with a horrified voice. Even Jaime looks stunned.

“Yes,” Brienne frowns. “Life _is_ unfair,” she picks up her coffee cup and goes back to the storeroom to sort the papers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They work and play.

Chapter Three

When Brienne has gotten the papers sorted to some sort of order, she marches to Jaime Hill, who again lounges on a sun chair with a book, looking like some Essosi half-god.

“Mr Hill,” she starts but gets immediately interrupted. “It's Jaime,” the man lifts his green eyes to hers. “Jaime,” Brienne continues and suppresses an eye-roll. “I need your cash register data.”

“My what?”

“Your cash register data. You have an electronic cash register. There should be a memory card in there. The sales transactions are saved on the card.”

He looks at her like she is talking in High Valyrian.

“Memory card, Mr Hill.”

“Jaime,” he groans.

“Jaime. May I take the memory card and read its contents to the laptop?”

“Yes, yes, do whatever you want, wench.”

“My name is Brienne, not wench.” She is getting irritated now. It's not like she wants the stupid card for her personal enjoyment. “I need your sales data so I can do your bookkeeping so you can pay your taxes.”

“And I already said, I do whatever you want, wench.” Jaime Hill picks up his book again and waves his prosthesis around like he is a queen and she an annoying flunky.

“Shoo, I'm busy,” he even says and Brienne stomps off to cash register.

She takes the thrice-damn memory card, plugs it into the laptop and downloads the contents. When she returns it to the cash register later, Bronn has arrived and is texting and smirking to his phone, decidedly ignoring the customers trying to gain his attention nearby. He is also holding a beer and drinking it. The sales data is missing at least 18 months of what she needs.

B: I think you are right, Marge, this is a front to something.

M: Like a mob? Or some government agency?

B: must be some government agency, there is no way that any mob would hire these incompetent and lazy people.

M: lol

Next day, when Brienne returns to her desk, two more memory cards are waiting for her, containing the missing data.

***

The next part of her work is the hardest. Brienne fills up spreadsheets documenting everything. She compares the amounts of alcohol purchased with the sales transactions. There are huge gaps of receipts missing until she discovers an email account on the laptop where there are electronic receipts for online purchases.

She comes in the mornings, and leaves for her classes (she now also teaches self-defence class at the fancy hotel, and gives surfing lessons at the family hotel), comes back again in her yoga gear and continues filling her spreadsheets.

Jaime Hill follows her with his green eyes everywhere.

“You work too hard, Tarth,” he one day when she leaves.

“Yeah, and you don't work at all, Jaime. Must be nice,” she snaps back before biting her lip. She almost apologises, but the man laughs at her and Brienne's throat tightens. She leaves before he can taunt her again.

After that, water bottles and sandwiches start to magically appear to her desk when she works.

Finally, she sees the end reaching. The piles of paper have stopped appearing on her desk, everything is put in the neat maps and colour-coded. She runs through her spreadsheets and gets the final result. It's Tuesday morning, so she runs to the posh resort to guide women in white exercise gear to downward-facing dogs, comes back to the bar and stands before Jaime Hill, who loiters around the deck chairs pretending to organize them. His ever-present Moluu shirt is unbuttoned and his six-pack visible. How can a man, who spends his days doing nothing, have a six-pack, Brienne wonders and not the first time. The shirt is in pastel colours now and looks lovely with his golden tan.

“I've finished it, Jaime,” she announces. His green eyes flitter over her. “I have the numbers.”

“Well, lead the way,” the sarcastic ass says, follows Brienne to storage room and sits down to a tower of wine crates. Brienne tries to show him the spreadsheets, but he waves his hand again. “Just give me the numbers.”

“Well,” Brienne starts and annoyance leaks to her voice, “taxes were overpaid in the first year, and it _was_ taken account on the following year, but then what was paid wasn't nearly enough for that year, so all that and the past year adds up to...” she hesitates. Jaime Hill makes a rolling motion with his hand like Brienne is making a dramatic pause and not just afraid to give out the bad news.

“You own about 5000 dragons in taxes,” she blurts out.

“Oh,” Jaime Hill sighs and leans back and strokes his shaggy beard. “It's not nearly as bad I thought it was,” he smiles, and it's a beautiful, real smile, not a smirk he usually gives out.

“But there is more...” Brienne bites her lip. The news is really bad. “You have about 4000 dragons missing in cash.” Jaime Hill has now picked up one of the folders and is looking at it with an impressed expression.

“Oh, that's fine,” he barely looks up.

“I don't think you understood,” Brienne tries to gain his attention.

“Yes, yes. I heard. It's fine.”

“But, I said you have almost 4000 dragons missing cash...” Brienne tries again. He makes an unimpressed noise. “I mean, someone has taken at least 4000 dragons from your cash register over the last years,” Jaime Hill drops the binder to the table again and rolls his eyes.

“I told you, it's fine. It's probably me or the boys. We sometimes borrow from the cash box when we are out of money.” He stands up.

“But the taxes, wench. Fill out the forms and whatever is needed and we'll go to the post office tomorrow to pay them.”

And then he gives her a once-over again and the smirk. “And bring a swimsuit, we're going out to party.”

“What?”

“You heard, bring a swimsuit. And cancel your classes, those ladies will have to go without their yoga tomorrow.”

He shows up next morning in his usual gear of shorts and a Moluu shirt, and a canvas bag with cash. They pay the taxes at the post office, and the clerk there stutters awkwardly when Jaime Hill hands him a neat pile of crisp 100 dragon bills. He gets his receipt and change back, promptly hands the paper over to Brienne, pockets the change and pulls stunned Brienne out of the post office.

“And now we'll go celebrate.”

***

When they arrive at the dock, Bronn and Sandor are loading coolers to a small yacht. Pia stands nearby, hugging a large watermelon.

When they all have climbed aboard the ship and Brienne is ruffling through her backpack to find her ever-present bottle of sunscreen, Jaime smiles wickedly and yells. “Alright, you muppets, which one of you knows how to drive this thing?”

Brienne sighs. Of course, Jaime Hill is dumb enough to borrow a yacht without knowing how to man it. And who would even lend out their expensive yacht to a scraggy bunch of beach bums?

She ends up taking them to the other side of the island, where they can see the waterfall falling down from the rocks and the warm wind smells like spices.

Sandor and Bronn bring up a small inflatable dinghy under the deck, load it with beer and fishing rods and row further away with a great racket and cursing. Pia takes off her sundress, lies down to a towel on the deck, puts on her ever-present earphones and starts reading a romance novel.

Jaime Hill stretches his legs out and smiles at Brienne. He looks like a big cat in a sunny spot who is eyeing a toy he plans to disembowel later.

“Thank you for getting us here, Captain Tarth,” he salutes. Brienne rolls her eyes and ducks under the deck to put on her swimsuit. When she comes back up, Jaime Hill has discarded his tropical shirt and is just pulling off his pants. Brienne gets an eyeful of Jaime's ass in unreasonably tight swim trunks and his muscled back and almost squeaks. Even Pia is slyly looking at it behind her sunglasses. Best to cool off, Brienne decides with a slight panic.

She climbs to the railing, waves to Sandor and Bronn fishing further away and dives to the water. When she comes up to the surface he sees Jaime leaning to the railing and looking at her with a queer expression before dives in and follows her into the water.

The day is spent swimming, fishing and reading in the sun and finally, when Brienne is getting rather red on her nose, beer, sandwiches and snacks are dug out of the coolers and consumed with great enthusiasm before Bronn who has found his latent skill of sailing takes them back to the dock.

It's not even dark yet, but Jaime Hill insists on walking Brienne to her car. “Alright, so good luck with the bar,” Brienne offers her hand when they reach it.

“What do you mean, good luck? Where are you planning to go?” Jaime stares at her as she has suddenly grown two heads.

“Well your taxes are done now,” she shrugs.

“Yeah, taxes, but what about all other things?”

“What other things?”

He rolls his eyes. “All the other things that bar managers do. Walk around with a clipboard and pen, and you know. Count things.”

“You mean to do the inventory of the stock?”

“Yes, that! And you should do something about the lack of customers.”

“What?”

“Yes, you're the manager, so, manage.”

Brienne leans against the car, stunned, and takes a moment to consider. She hadn't expected the work to continue after sorting out the bookkeeping but she has worried how and where to spend her time between the classes she gives. And she has, at some level, liked the ratty bar and the employees there.

“Alright, but I have two conditions,” she looks down to Jaime's eyes. “One, I still want to choose my hours.”

“Of course,” Jaime shrugs.

“Two, you'll have to be completely honest with me. Is The Oathkeeper a mob front?”

“What?” Jaime laughs.

“I thought first that you must launder money but there clearly is no money to launder, except what you keep pouring into this excuse of a business.”

“The Oathkeeper is not a mob front, Brienne.” She lifts her eyebrows. “I do see how one might think so,” Jaime continues, “but it's not.”

“Is it some other kind of front?”

“No, it's just my hobby.” Jaime doesn’t look like a man who would keep a bar as a hobby, but clearly he has access to piles of cash and nice yachts.

“Are you honest with me Jaime Hill?” She looks at the man. “I don't want to find out that you have lied to me.”

“Oathkeeper is not a front to anything, I promise.”

“And you're not lying about anything else, are you?”

He raises his green eyes to hers. “I'm not lying to you about anything else, Brienne.”

“Alright, I'll see you tomorrow then. I have a surfing class in the morning, so after that.”

She turns around and opens the car door. “But if I find out that you have lied to me and you are laundering money, you're on your own.”

“Drive safe, Brienne Tarth,” Jaime Hill calls after him when she closes the door. “I don't want to lose my bar manager before the inventory is done.”

***

B: How in the hell you get a shitty bar on its feet?

M: ... ... ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post it all remaining chapters, as I have no self-control, lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They learn to make drinks. Some people are surprisingly good throwing knives. Weird, huh?

Chapter Four

“Fancy drinks? Why the hell would anyone pay for fancy drinks? We are surrounded by two all-inclusive hotels where the guests can get an unlimited amount of booze.”

“Because they only serve low-calorie, high-on-vitamins health drinks in the posh hotel. And in the family hotel, the drinks are all watered down and served in ugly plastic cups. What we can give them, Jaime, is fancy drinks with bendy straws and umbrellas and all that frilly stuff, and we’ll serve it in carved out pineapples full of sugar and alcohol.

“Straws are a choking hazard to marine animals,” Jaime Hill pouts.

“Get reusable ones then.”

“My bartenders don't know how to make fancy drinks.”

“They don't know how to tend a bar either, but that doesn't seem to stop you making them do so,” Brienne retorts and Jaime Hills laughs.

“Fine. Find me someone who can teach us how to make them and bring them over. And bar wench, if we have to learn then you'll have to as well.”

***

It's Samwell Tarly who finds them a professional. Kojja Mo is a friend of Sam's wife, Gilly, and she turns up with a car full of supplies, cases of fruits and various other necessary things on the Independence Day weekend when all the businesses are closed on the island. Brienne asks Sam to check up on her father during the night as she is not sure when she can come home.

Sandor, Bronn and Jaime are all at the bar, and surprisingly excited. Even Pia who usually only comes in the mornings to clean, is there with them.

They spend all day making various drinks and sampling them. Pia, who is a jittery creature, soon sits to the corner with a huge elaborate drink that Jaime has prepared her. It has all sorts of umbrellas, reusable straws, berries and flowers sticking out of it and Pia nurses it and watches the others having fun.

Kojja keeps a tight ship for the first few hours, makes everyone practice the recipes until everyone knows them by heart and makes sure that the bar is kept clean and neat while the drinks are made and that no one cuts off a finger when they are carving the pineapples.

It turns up that Bronn and Sandor are both surprisingly good at carving pineapples. Jaime, with his lack of dominant hand, just laughs at the suggestion of trying and busies himself with slicing limes and making fruit juices.

They select out seven different drinks to serve, practice making them and Brienne photographs the best results. After a few hours, Kojja lets them loose and leans back to watch with a pint she has poured herself from a tap.

Sandor and Bronn soon start throwing the carving knives to the dartboard. Brienne, who has taken careful sips of each drink to learn what they taste like, wants to stop the stupidity with the knives but the men are surprisingly good at it so she relaxes. Even Jaime joins in the throwing contest and is not half bad with his left hand. _How are they all so good with throwing knives_ , Brienne wonders shortly before busily carving a coconut for another drink.

“Gotten lots of practice for your left hand lately, have you, posh bastard?” Bronn smirks and Jaime throws a lime at him, which Bronn catches without even looking. They end up competing at the knife throwing, everyone besides Pia participating. The winner is Kojja, Bronn comes as second and Brienne as third. Jaime presents the winner a bottle of Maester Aemon's Best Casket, Bronn gets a hearty FU, and Brienne is awarded a fancy coconut drink with some yummy fruits and berries at the drink stick to nibble on.

“Piss off,” grumbles Bronn for his non-prize and mutters something that sounds remotely like “fucking hamsters” before going to make himself the largest pineapple-based drink known to the humankind.

Kojja laughs merrily, swaps her rum bottle for Jaime's most expensive bottle of whisky and leaves for the night.

It's a lovely evening, sitting there at the bar and watching everyone having fun. At least until Brienne finishes her drink and decides to put away the knives and cuts her finger in the process.

It's not a big cut, but Jaime immediately comes over to fuss about it. He leads her to the sink to wash it, wraps her hand in a clean dish towel and rummages around the cupboards until he finds the first aid kit.

He has such pretty green eyes, Brienne thinks and bites her lip so she wouldn't say that aloud while Jaime sorts through the bandaids to find the correct size.

“You're pretty good with your left hand,” Brienne comments when he manages to open one. Brienne really wants to run her fingers through his beard, to see if it’s as soft as it looks. Before she realises her fingers are on it and Brienne feels her face going warm, but Jaime doesn’t laugh at her. Instead, there is a softness in Jaime's smile instead of the cutting edge that's usually there, when he puts the bandaid on her finger. Injuries sorted out Jaime seats Brienne to the corner next to Pia and puts a bottle of water in front of her.

“You two sit here and stay away from trouble, I need to hide away the knives,” he announces and goes away.

“Yes boss,” chirps Pia. The girl seems to be working through their sample drinks menu and immediately hands Brienne one of the frilly drinks with frilly straws, sparkling sticks and rum-soaked fruits from the side table and picks one up for herself as well.

“I really like you Brienne,” she starts to babble. “Even though the boss only looks at you and never me, I still like you,” she announces quite drunkenly.

“He does not,” gasps Brienne and slurps through the straw the delicious drink.

“Does too! That face he makes when you walk by in your swimsuit!” giggles Pia and then they both laugh for some more and hug.

***

Brienne wakes up in a pleasantly cool room. The room has wide windows, pushed open, and white curtains are swaying in a slight breeze. The air smells of cinnamon again. Brienne is still wearing her clothes from yesterday, laying on a bed with white bedlinens. She sits up and looks out of the window where the view of the beach in front of the Oathkeeper greets her. If her head wouldn't pound as it does now or her throat wouldn't be so parched Brienne would quite enjoy being in this pretty and calm room. She finds a glass of water and some painkillers at the little stool next to the bed.

 _Jaime_ , she remembers now and feels the embarrassment flooding over her. It had been Jaime who scooped her up yesterday and carried her off like a bride. And she had said something to him, something embarrassing that had made him chuckle.

“ _You are so pretty, Jaime, but too bad about that beard. You look like a half-god, and half beach bum with that beard.”_

“ _You don't like the beard?”_

“ _You look like R'hllor's worshipper. The kind of who lives under a boat.”_

“ _So you think I should shave it?”_

“ _Noo! Maybe just trim it a little.”_

Brienne wants to groan but is too afraid that Jaime who must be lurking nearby might hear her. She looks around the room instead. It's rather sparsely decorated. There is a sturdy looking wardrobe with carved doors on the other side of the room. Above the bed hangs an antique sword, and Brienne would normally take a good look at it but the pounding in her head and need for the loo drives her out of the room.

She finds the loo right outside of the room, uses it and tries not to look too hard at herself at the mirror. _Go on, Brienne, you can be brave if you try_ , she tells herself and goes to find Jaime.

She finds him standing in the kitchen-slash-living room, wearing soft linen pyjama pants, and nothing else, not even his prosthesis, and drinking coffee. His beard is freshly trimmed and Brienne doesn't know where to look. There is a low-hanging sofa at the other side of the room, pillows and thin blanket askew, bearing evidence of someone sleeping there. Brienne feels relieved but also a little disappointed.

“Brienne,” Jaime winces apologetically and pours a cup of coffee to her. “If I'd known what a total lightweight you are I would have kept you away from the drinks.”

The coffee helps with the headache and Jaime cooks her some bacon and scrambled eggs.

“So, are you the kind of a person who sleeps off her hangover or fights it out?” he asks her when they eat.

Brienne chooses to fight it out because she is not able to think about sleeping and beds while Jaime Hill is sitting there, half-naked and gorgeous.

“I think I should go to the gym,” she whispers.

“Can I come too?” Jaime asks. “I haven't sparred for ages.”

“I didn't know you know how.”

“I fought in school,” he shrugs. “You'll have to be gentle with me,” he then smirks and Brienne groans.

***

Armed with a two-litre bottle of water, her gym bag and strong resolve to not look at her boss’s naked chest, Brienne steps into the familiar, slightly stinky gym. She unlocks it with the key that the owner, Xhondo Dhoru, has given her, finds two practising swords and walks to the fencing mat.

Jaime, who is still not wearing his prosthesis, swings the padded buffer sword around reluctantly. Brienne makes him do some basic drills first, correcting his positions and watching him.

Then they spar, slowly. He is bad and gets frustrated but every time he drops his sword he picks it up again.

“You're getting better,” she tells him after an hour when they are sitting and drinking from her huge water bottle. Then Sandor comes in, gruffs and throws a tourney sword to Brienne.

“Stop sitting on your ass Tarth, and fight. The pretty boy can watch.”

Sparring with Sandor is good for her hangover. Jaime sits on the bench and watches them, and occasionally shouts suggestions and heckles. Annoyed by it, Brienne makes more effort than usual and and attacks Sandor with more energy than her current state would normally allow.

“Alright,” Sandor finally gruffs and puts away his practice sword and goes to lift weights.

When Brienne glances at Jaime Hill he is staring at her green eyes round as saucers.

“You’re good,” he comments. “You really should go back fighting professionally.”

Brienne would need sponsors for that, and she would have to leave the island. Right now she is too tired to think about either problems.

***

“How's your hangover, Brienne?” Jaime asks her when they are walking back to the bar.

“Why?”

“Want to go swimming?” She should say no. She nods instead and goes to the storage room to change to her swimsuit while he runs upstairs.

She goes to the beach when she is ready and as soon as she sees him walking the stone path she runs into the water. She can't watch him like that, half-naked, beard trimmed and glowing in the sun.

The water is warm, the sea welcomes her like a lover’s arms and Brienne puts all her strength to escape Jaime, but even without his hand, he catches her soon.

“Geroff,” Brienne shrieks when a hand touches her foot and he laughs at her like a gods damn sea god.

There is no way she can win this sparring, she knows suddenly.

“Come here,” Jaime lures her and stands up from the waves, naked chest glistening in the water. The sun is shining and the sand is white and the sky is blue. She goes to him, hands touching his wet skin. He tastes like saltwater. His mouth is warm and his fingers are running through her wet hair.

They stand in the waves and kiss, and Brienne doesn’t care who might see them. When he pulls back a little and runs his thumb across her lips she basks in the warmth of his skin.

“Do you have seals at Tarth, island girl?”

“What? Yes we have seals, Jaime. Why?”

“Because you swim like a sea creature. Are you actually a selkie, Brienne Tarth?”

She laughs, and Jaime wraps his arm around her and kisses her again. His coaxes her with his mouth until she opens hers and lets his tongue touch hers.

I shouldn't, Brienne thinks, but the thought is absurd. On this island the air smells like cinnamon and the sea is warm. She feels so carefree here, so why shouldn't she kiss this beautiful man?

“Come back to my room, Brienne,” he lures her again, and she lets him take her hand, and follows him to his room where the white curtains sway in the sea breeze and there is a sword above their bed.

He makes her come, does it again and again, and when Brienne finally rises from his bed and goes home she is sure that her father will know how she has spent her Summer Isles Independence Day Weekend.

***

“You smell so nice,” he murmurs to her hair and wraps his arms around her as she sits behind her desk in the storage room.

“I'm trying to do the new drink menu,” she tries to push him away.

“It looks horrible,” Jaime laughs. “Come upstairs instead,” he nibbles her earlobe and his hand already on her breast.

“If it's horrible then I need to redo it.”

“I'll redo it myself later,” his fingers are pinching her nipple and Brienne feels blood rushing down her belly.

When she wakes up from his bed later, groggy from a post-sex nap and comes down to the bar looking for Jaime, she finds a new drink menu printed on top of the laptop. And it looks good.

“I'm good at Photoshop,” Jaime smirks and tries to pull her to the hammock, but Jaime doesn't pay her salary for sex or slacking, he pays it for working for the bar so Brienne pulls away and goes to wash the chalkboard she has found from the storage room.

When she comes back from the post office, a pile of laminated drink menus in her bag, she finds Bronn in front of the chalkboard, glasses on top of his nose, drawing a big-breasted woman holding a fancy drink on it.

“Draw some clothes on her, Bronn, and you can keep her,” she tells the man. There's a chalkboard stand too so she makes him draw that as well, and hauls it to the beach where the tourists walk by.

Next week when the season starts properly, Sandor needs to carve so many pineapples that the man starts cursing like a pirate.

***

B: I have news

M: omg omg SPILL

M: have you finally bedded that beach bum you keep talking about??

B: 🙄

B: I was going to say that fancy drinks are pulling in the crowds and I’m really proud of the work I did in the bar, but yes, I did bed that beach bum

M: FUCKING FINALLY

M: I booked my tickets, c u soon B

B: I can’t wait, I’ve missed you

M: I want to meet him & I want to see your hard work at the bar.

***

Fancy drinks pull in the crowd like crazy. Most of the crowd comes from the posh hotel, where the ladies in complicated swimsuits are dying to be released from the health prison where drinks are low-calorie, low alcohol and low sugar. They come to Oathkeeper in big flocks like exotic birds and chitter and giggle at the midday sun. From the other side, mothers put their children to sleep under slightly damp beach towels on the sunbeds and indulge in a single drink while keeping one eye on their worn-out offspring and the other on the sea. When the evening comes and the children are left with the fathers, the mothers come in pairs and the crowds from both hotels mix up.

Pia, who gets to be in charge of the music has made a chill playlist to quietly play during the day and a party mix during the night from the speakers that Brienne has set up at the corners of the yard.

Bronn and Sandor carve pineapples, cut the tops off the coconuts, build complicated drinks in tall glasses or fruits, and serve them to women who flirt with them. Bronn spends every night with a different woman, but Sandor only looks at one, the tall redhead receptionist at the posh hotel.

“Her name is Sansa,” tells Brienne to Sandor, but he only shakes his head.

“Fine birds like that won't look at me,” he ruefully remarks and turns away to build a drink for the girl.

Brienne, who first stayed the evenings to help and monitor how the bartenders are managing with the new menu, has now to stay and help to make the drinks because the demand for them is greater than two men can deliver. Even Jaime helps, although he seems to stay away from the bar front and instead makes the juices, cuts fruit and cleans up in the background while Pia plucks used glasses from the tables. Brienne notices women watching Jaime with hunger in their eyes but Jaime doesn't seem to pay any attention to them. Instead, when Brienne comes over he wraps his arm around her and steals a kiss.

“Stay for the night,” he whispers.

“I can't, not for tonight.” He pouts so very prettily and Brienne laughs and then calls Sam and asks if he can check up her father tomorrow night. Selwyn is already in pretty good shape, thanks to all the PT Sam has made him do, but Brienne still wants someone there for him at night.

“Tomorrow I'll stay,” she tells him before returning to bar front and is rewarded with a very indecent kiss.

“For fuck's sake,” yells Sandor. “Get a fucking room,” and picks up a crate of pineapples.

“My friend Margaery will come over next week, Jaime,” she tells Jaime. “So you'll have to learn to be without me for a while when I'm spending time with my friend.”

“Fine, as long as you'll introduce me to her as your boyfriend.”

***

Her friend arrives at the bar with a pile of designer suitcases and hat boxes.

“Margaery!” Brienne jumps up from the hammock she has shared with Jaime and runs to her friend. Margaery looks amazing in a sundress and a wide-brimmed hat which promptly gets knocked off from her head when Brienne hugs her. She turns around and looks at Jaime, who looks weirdly pale.

“Margaery, this is my...” she feels her face going all red again. “This is my Jaime, “ she blurts out and smiles. “Jaime Hill.” Margaery and Jaime stare at each other.

“Jaime fucking Lannister,” Margaery hisses through her teeth.

“No, Margaery,” Brienne looks from her best friend to her boyfriend. She remembers that the Kingslayer, that infamous Kingsguard leader, had been called Jaime Lannister. Her Jaime is nothing like him. “Jaime Hill, not Lannister.”

“No, that's definitely Jaime Lannister,” hisses Margaery.

“Jaime,” Brienne pleads and looks at her boyfriend. This can't be happening, she thinks. Not again.

“Shit,” he only says.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth is revealed.

Chapter five

Brienne is always very good at pretending that everything is fine when she is hurt. It's Jaime who looks at her with his green eyes full of worry, mouth twisted and arms hanging limply at the side when Brienne gathers her things from Jaime's apartment.

“Brienne,” he pleads, but she walks past him and continues down the rickety stairs without a word. Together with Margaery they manage to haul all her luggage to the posh hotel and check her in. In next days, they do all the things they planned to do during her holiday, and Brienne pretends to be fine.

“It was just a fling,” she tells Margaery when she drives her friend around the island. Margaery gets distracted by the pretty rose garden behind the governor's villa just like Brienne hoped she would, and asks no more questions for a while at least. Brienne ignores Jaime's messages on her phone, and she ignores him when she is walking past the bar from one hotel to another for her lessons.

“I'm fine,” she tells her father when she helps him from the house to the patio where he likes to sit. “The bar doesn't need help any more,” she shrugs and goes swimming instead.

“Maybe you should hear him out,” Margaery frowns at her green smoothie few days later. They are sitting by the pool at the posh hotel while Margaery is working on her tan.

“There's nothing he can tell me.” Brienne feels her shoulders to stiffen and she looks away from her friend.

“Maybe not, but you should still give him a chance to tell his side.” Margaery puts away the green smoothie and sighs.

“I know he lied to you, Brienne,” Margaery continues. “But he is not like Hyle and those assholes.”

Brienne hates to think about _that_. About the elaborate catfishing plot that those assholes had cooked. That the man, Renly, who she had chatted online for months hadn’t been real at all, just some pictures stolen from someone else and Hyle fucking Hunt catfishing her. A dumb joke that Brienne was a target of.

“I have to go, Margaery, I have a class to give.” Brienne stands up from her chair. “And it's ok, you can go to the Oathkeeper to have a proper drink, I don't mind.”

***

When she returns from the swimming lessons, she is not surprised to see Jaime Lannister waiting for her at the beach.

“Brienne, please,” he pleads again. “Let me explain.” She agrees, if only to end it, or keep him from following her around.

They don’t go to the Oathkeeper. Instead, they walk down the beach to sit down at the quiet stretch where there are no other people. Brienne pulls her knees up to her chin and wraps her hands around them. Waves crash against the shore and the sound soothes her.

“I realise how this must look,” Jaime starts.

“Really?” she lifts her eyebrows. “You’re not Jaime Lannister?”

He sighs and rubs his chin. “Brienne, I...”

Brienne turns away and stares at the ocean. The sky is going grey.

“I was a Kingsguard.”

“I know, Margaery told me.” The Kingsguard is the legendary elite special force task team.

“I killed Aerys,” Jaime blurts next.

She still doesn't look at him.

“I know.” She had looked him up from the internet, all these old newspaper articles about Jaime Lannister. The man who had killed the Mad King Aerys.

“It wasn't like it was in the papers,” he his voice cracks. “It was bad, but it was much much worse.”

She looks at him now, but he is staring at the sea. “The things he had done, it was horrible. We were sent to fish him out. Me, Bronn and Sandor, others too as a backup, but mainly us three.”

He looks at her, green eyes darkening. “We managed to get him in the end, but… He had planted bombs all over the city.” That part hadn’t been in the papers.

“We were leaving when one of his bombs went off. My hand, Sandy's face... Civilians died too, and some hostages he had…” The blast of the Sept of Baelor had been Aerys’ final terror attack, and the Kingsguard had been lauded as heroes.

“Only damn Bronn got off without a scratch on him.”

“Bronn Blackwater.”

“Yes.”

She had felt so stupid when she had realised. That all of those three had used an alias, not only Sandor.

“What about Pia?”

“She was there too.”

“She was in Kingsguard?” That feels unlikely, that the timid girl would be part of that.

“No!” Jaime chuckles. “She was one of the civilians who got injured at the blast. She came to see us at the hospital later.”

“When we were flown to the hospital, I was pretty messed up with pain meds, and I just talked and talked about how I just want to do something nice and calm, like keep a bar. Somewhere warm, away from it all. And when all this exploded at the press, when our names were leaked and all the reporters were hunting us I thought why shouldn’t we.”

“So you found this place and sat out hiding for years.”

“Yeah, and I brought my friends too. It's nice here. Smells nice too.”

“It's a cool story, Jaime,” Brienne stands up from the sand. “But still, you should have told me. I hate to be lied to.”

“I know,” he looks up to her. “I'm sorry I didn't.”

“I am too.”

Brienne takes her bag and walks away.

***

It's weird how much she misses him even after those few short weeks spent together. She misses his mouth on her skin and hands on her body but she also misses the bar and the companionship she had with him there.

Brienne is used to heartbreak so she just continues living as before, giving her classes, helping her father and going on her morning swims but she doesn't go to the Oathkeeper. She stays away from that side of the island as much as she can and swims at the front of her father's house instead, even though the beach is rockier and the sea rougher.

Margaery, who is very sorry about how Brienne's island romance ended, hugs Brienne goodbye at the ferry terminal and leaves for King's Landing with a new tan. “Take care, Brienne,” she sniffs and waves goodbye from the ferry.

***

M: Call him, Bree.

B: Damn it Margaery I can still see the ferry.

M: Stop staring wistfully at the sea and go make up with your island fling

***

A few days later she needs to rethink her future in other ways besides her island romance. Sansa, the cute receptionist at the posh hotel, pulls Brienne aside when she is leaving after her Water Dancing aerobics class and tells her about the coaching job at Winterfell.

“It would be assistant coach, for mum’s juniors” Sansa’s mum owns a melee team where her brother Robb is their star.

“I’ll think about it,” Brienne tells Sansa then, but complains to Sandor later when they are training at the gym.

“I’m pretty sure I could kick Robb Stark to the ground, even if I am unpracticed,” she is not able to hold off the bitterness from her voice. “And assistant coach, not even main.”

“You should go back fighting,” Sandor shakes his head and hands her the practice mace. “Bitterbridge holds an open tournament later this year, you don’t need a team for that.”

Brienne has thought about it, but the cost of it all seems too much to bear again. Not only the money, which she doesn’t have, but also the burden of solitude. Going there alone, fighting alone, the bitter aftertaste of everyone resenting her, of coming there to spoil their sport, by joining where she is not welcome and being better than men there.

“I could train you,” Sandor adds. “And we could find you sponsors. I have connections.”

It’s the thought of leaving the island that mellows Brienne’s anger towards Jaime. Maybe I was too harsh, she thinks, but doesn’t know how to mend their rift. When she drives home the wind that day doesn’t feel warm or welcoming, just harsh.

***

The rain is beating down almost sideways and the palm trees are swaying in the wind. Brienne is nailing some plywood she found in the shed to the windows of her father's house when Jaime's car arrives at her yard.

“What the fuck are you doing, wench?” he yells at her. “There’s a fucking typhoon, why aren’t you sheltered?”

“And why are _you_ driving in the typhoon, Lannister?” she yells back at him.

“Where is your father? We need to get him somewhere safe!” Jaime Lannister keeps shouting.

“Sam took him to the shelter. Why are you here?” He doesn't answer but instead helps to hold the plywood so she can nail it in place. There is one more window to do and it's much faster with his help. Maybe she is a little glad that he is here, she admits to herself.

“Come on,” he yells at her through the wind and takes her hand and pulls her into the house. “We'll put the mattresses in the bathroom and we might survive this,” he yells over the rattling that goes on.

“I already did,” she tells him and takes him to the bathroom where she has piled the mattresses from the bedrooms and brought in some bottled water and the bag with passports and laptops for safekeeping. “I know about the typhoons, Jaime.” Brienne had planned only to fix the house and go to the shelter, but the wind had picked up much faster than she could have imagined and now she is stuck here with him.

They climb under the big mattress leaning on the wall and Brienne lights the flashlight she has left there. There is very little space and they both are fairly large adults so it's crowded, but it’s better to have someone with her.

“Needs more pillows,” Jaime grumbles and lies down next to her. Everything rattles around them and Brienne hears Jaime's car alarm going off in the distance. I should tell him about the catfishing, Brienne thinks. Explain about why she was mad at him, but in the storm the past feels too far away and unimportant.

Later, when the house rumbles and Brienne is sure that the roof has now blown off, he pulls her into his arms.

She is too afraid to be angry at Jaime now.

“Jaime,” she whispers, and pushes her face to his neck.

“I have you,” he whispers back and together they wait the storm to be over. It's the longest night in her life, and she spends it in the darkness with Jaime.

There is a moment when she is sure they will die, that the house will be torn apart and the storm will take away their bodies, and she clings to Jaime, finds his mouth with her own and drowns away the fear in his kisses.

“Jaime,” she cries, but he has her, holds her and she forgives him.

***

When the rattling calms down, and the rain stops, they step out of their little fortress and out to the yard. Surprisingly, the roof of the house is still there, but the rumbling they heard was dad's gazebo rolling around the yard and falling to pieces.

There's a palm tree on top of Jaime's car, but Brienne's trusty rust bucket stands safe. There's not much they can do here right now, so Brienne drives them to the local high school where everyone is sheltering to check on her father. They find him snoozing on the floor on a mattress next to Sam and Gilly's baby.

The Oathkeeper is in much worse condition.

The roof is gone completely, having blown off into the pools of the family hotel. The bar front and Jaime's apartment upstairs are completely trashed. There is shattered glass everywhere. Only lone white curtain sways sadly in the wind.

They find Bronn and Sandor standing next to the house frowning at the destruction.

“Where's Pia?” Brienne asks.

“Shacking up with some tourist in the posh hotel,” grumbles Sandor. The clouds are scattering and the sun is starting to come out.

“We should find something to cover the house,” Brienne looks up at the destruction.

“I think there are some tarpaulins at the storage,” Bronn nods and goes to rummage the storage room.

“I'll find a ladder,” Sandor agrees and follows him.

Brienne is alone in the yard now with Jaime.

“So now what?” Jaime asks and sits down on a tree trunk that is lying across the yard. “Are you going to Winterfell to teach some brats to fight?” he looks at Brienne. Damn Sandor must have told him about her offer.

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “And you, are you planning to stay here? Rebuild your little hiding hole?”

“I have some plans,” he looks at her and rubs his hand across his beard. “Someone suggested I should get involved in sports again. Start up a melee team maybe. I’d need some proper fighters for that.” He stands up from and comes to take her hand.. “What do you think, Brienne?” he asks carefully.

“Sandor is pretty good fighter, I suppose,” she smiles and Jaime rolls his eyes.

“What do you want to do, Brienne?” he asks again.

Brienne looks at the roofless house, the thrashed bar front, the sea glittering at the other side and the golden man standing in front of her.

“I'd like to find out what Jaime Lannister is like.”

He smiles and pulls her to his arms. “Well, he is much like Jaime Hill, but definitely owns much more antique swords.”

The air smells like cinnamon and possibilities again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My prompt was this:  
>  _1\. Jaime (unshaven, wearing Westerosi equivalent of Hawaiian shirt) owns a bar on a tropical island. Brienne manages it. (What form did the job interview take?)  
>  Jaime spends his days lazing in a hammock, fishing, watching the sunset etc. Bronn and Sandor are bartenders, but they don’t do much work either - just make clever remarks.  
> Brienne keeps wondering where the money comes from to keep the bar afloat.  
> Jaime, Sandor and Bronn are all veterans, and the Kingsguard = elite special forces, but Brienne thinks Jaime is just a very handsome bum.  
> Bonus points if Bronn wears reading glasses and Sandor says “For fuck’s sake!”  
> _
> 
> So that's it, folks. I hope my prompter, LadyRhiyana, enjoys reading it as much as I loved writing it. I had so much fun! The island stuff was so nice to map out. I hope you don't mind the open ending. If you ask my headcanons then Brienne will go back fighting tourneys because she is kickass like that. Selwyn has plenty of women looking after him at the island, the dog he is. Jaime will follow Brienne, and I suppose Bronn will remain working the bar. 
> 
> One thing I failed to point out in the fic is that Kojja Mo and her family own both hotels and pretty much all rest of the island.


End file.
